


Salty air and Fire

by BehindBrokenWindows



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, Domestic, Domestic Bliss, Everyone Is Gay, Fix-It of Sorts, Goodbyes, Growing Old Together, M/M, Post-Canon, Romantic Fluff, Thomas laughs at grumpy James, james considers mutiny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 00:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10708245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BehindBrokenWindows/pseuds/BehindBrokenWindows
Summary: Because still, after ten years of individual harassment from a cruel world, were they the same. Under all the grime and blood and desperation, they fit like two pieces in a puzzle. It was extraordinary. They shouldn’t have known each other, should have barely been able to recognize each other, but their world wasn’t like that, their world had laws of its own.





	Salty air and Fire

**Author's Note:**

> A bit embarrassing to say, but I almost made myself cry writing this - hope I'm able to give you some feelings too! ;)

It was something so unreal, so extraordinary. He had, of course, imagined this very moment a hundred, thousand times before, but he had never been prepared for this. Maybe it was a good thing, that this moment felt so undeniably different from every imagined scenario he’d ever had, because it left no room for doubt, it left no room to think that this wasn’t real. He hadn’t been prepared for the void that was inside him. He was unthinking, unfeeling as he looked at the man in the middle of the field. He didn’t command his legs to move once his shackles were removed, he barely realized he was moving at all, he was transfixed on one particular point in the universe and it held all of his attention. And what an arresting sight it was.

Soon, too soon – not soon enough? – he was in front of the man with the greying hair, shaggy beard and the clear blue eyes that spoke of bottomless confusion. His knees buckled as the man’s face spread into such a smile as he’d ever seen, and only the strong arms that came around him stopped him from falling to his knees in the field. And still, he felt nothing, knew nothing beside the fact that he had to hold on, and that he could never, ever let go again, never let go of this man he didn’t know. Because still, after ten years of individual harassment from a cruel world, were they the same. Under all the grime and blood and desperation, they fit like two pieces in a puzzle. It was extraordinary. They shouldn’t have known each other, should have barely been able to recognize each other, but their world wasn’t like that, their world had laws of its own.

Hands – rough hands, foreign hands – found his face. Parched lips slotted into place and he thought he might be crying but he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know this man, and yet… If he didn’t know him, how could it feel like this? Because he wasn’t unfeeling anymore, he wasn’t distant and the world was no longer colourless. The sun was blazing in the dizzyingly blue sky, beating down on him with a vengeance. It reflected in the blue eyes that were so close he could barely make them out, but it was _his_ eyes, and there was no room for doubt. _There_ was the mischief, _there_ – the strong will and hard-headedness that he knew so well. And there was the love he thought he would never see again, the love he’d been deprived of for the last ten years, the love he didn’t deserve. And it was simply too much. Because those eyes were the same, like the man hadn’t aged a day, like his body hadn’t become strong with muscle and his hands calloused from years in the field.

How had he ever lived without this?

But no, he hadn’t lived for ten years, it had been merely an existence. An existence of rage, unfathomable sorrow, gunpowder, salty air, and fire.

~

They talked for the better part of two days, and even though it was painful, it had to be done. They talked, even though James was sure he’d never before been as afraid as he was now, in front of Thomas, telling the man he loved his gruesome story. James talked of the anger, talked of being lost, of floating mindlessly and seeing the world in faded colors. He talked of Miranda and raged when he recounted her death, and cried when he held Thomas in his arms as he shook. He cried for the first time in ten years. He talked of blood on his hands that could never be washed away. He talked of shame and he talked of the monster and Thomas thought he might never stop talking once he’d begun. He talked of Alfred Hamilton and of Peter Ashe and how they’d both died at his hand and Thomas didn’t despise him. Thomas could never despise him even though he ought to, in a way. Thomas saw it, behind James’ eyes, the self-loathing, the hatred.

Thomas had less to tell, but didn’t stay silent. Even though it might hurt James to hear, he talked of the treatment in Bethlem and showed him the scars on his body. He talked of the pleasure of being freed, and the harsh feeling of the sunlight as he stepped out of that building after he knew not how long. He talked of being sent here, and of being asked to change his name lest any of the other men recognized him. He talked of the lonely life of _Thomas McGraw_ and James’ breath hitched in his throat. At least, he joked, he’d had books to entertain him, even though James knew that by now Thomas must have read all the books available in this place. And he’d had no one to discuss them with.

And when night fell, James left Thomas’ room and went to sleep in the open quarters with the other men, because he wasn’t a Lord, and only Thomas and a few others were allowed the privacy of individual rooms.

~

It took a week before Thomas was pulled out of his reverie one late evening by a careful tap on the door. He opened and James padded in on naked feet. He was wearing the white clothing they were given, and it contrasted strongly against his ginger beard. Somehow it enhanced his colours and his eyes looked like a field of grass. Thomas couldn’t help but compare him to an especially grumpy ginger cat he’d had as a child. James looked even grumpier once Thomas - trying very hard to keep the laughter from bubbling out - told him that, but there was happiness in James' eyes. After all, Thomas had loved that cat, even though everyone else – and particularly his father - had hated it.

When Thomas undressed him, James seemed even more shy than he had that very first time in London, and he crossed his arms over his chest to hide some of the more gruesome scars, those that had almost killed him. There were many.

Thomas’ hands stilled on the fastenings of his breeches, and he looked up at James.

“Don’t do that,” he whispered. “I want to see you, James.” So he kissed the other man and prodded his arms away to take in the sight. James was so different now. There was almost as much scar tissue as there was healthy flesh. Instead of shying away, Thomas caressed and kissed the scars reverently. “You’re so incredibly brave, James. You’re so strong, to have survived this.” _Demons are harder to kill than most men_ , James wanted to say, but he didn’t, because Thomas’ hands were all over him and they were gentle.

They spent the night together. James was hesitant in the beginning and Thomas took his time. They weren’t used to this anymore, needed to get reacquainted with each other’s bodies. James reveled in the layer of firm muscle that now covered Thomas’ body. He wasn’t soft like before, and his body was physical proof of his hardship. It was fitting.

And even though Thomas could handle James much more easily now than he could before (they had always liked a certain degree of playful forcefulness between them, and James would always pretend to lose), this first time, they were gentle. Every motion was slow, every touch and every kiss deliberate, reverent.

When he spent, James thought he wouldn’t be able to resurface again. Something exploded through his body and left him breathless, seeing stars. The look on Thomas’ face told him he’d had a similar experience, eyes blown wide, incredulous, full of love. James was afraid they would sleep for days after this. But they didn’t, and nobody mentioned anything in the morning, nobody glanced their way. 

~

The other men soon grew used to their new member, and knew not to disturb him. Everyone resigned themselves with the fact that the McGraw brothers – though they all knew they weren’t brothers at all – needed time with each other. Even the men Thomas had become close with left them alone.

~

It was a peaceful time for them, and James – who had known nothing but burdens for a decade – found the work easy and relaxing, and soon the tension left his shoulders. He did always have one eye on his surrounding – just in case – and that wasn’t a habit he was willing to let go of. However, he wasn’t allowed a weapon, and walking without that weight around his waist was uncomfortable in the beginning, until he noticed how it liberated his movements and let him breathe, oddly enough.

~

It took quite a while before the things the other men said about him and Thomas came back to James. Thomas had worked very hard to keep it away from him, and even though the men had no issues talking of their disgust when Thomas could hear, they clamped their mouths closed when James entered the room. There was something with the way he leveled his gaze at everyone before he went to sit beside Thomas, it was the broadness of his shoulders and the constantly displeased look on his face that had the men uncomfortable. And the fact that it was _Long John Silver_ himself who had sent him. He simply didn’t look like one anyone would want against them. However, words did get back to James eventually, and Thomas honestly did not know how. At dinner that evening, when they were all gathered and the guards weren’t inside the room – they never were when the men ate – James strode inside. For a moment, he stood there in silence, watching out over the men until he got everyone's attention.

James Flint spoke, and men listened. James Flint threatened and men quivered. They all knew Captain Flint’s reputation, they all knew of his time with Long John Silver and the war they should have started. James made himself perfectly clear, and throughout the meal only one word was whispered against them. James couldn’t possibly have heard, not over all the chattering of the others. But the next morning, the man was found with his neck broken on the outskirts of the field. They all knew who had done it. Thomas was horrified. Nobody had proof of anything. None of the guards had seen anything out of the ordinary, not even James’ usual trip to Thomas’ room during the night. How he’d done it, no one knew, but no one spoke of it since, and for some unfathomable reason, Thomas managed to chuckle about it and James knew he was forgiven. Even though he shouldn’t have been.

From that day, James didn’t even pretend to sleep in the barracks. No one said a word.

~

At first, when James talked of leaving, Thomas was scared. He didn’t exactly like being here, but he had resigned himself to it a long time ago. It was safe here, he had books to read at night, it was peaceful.

“It is mind-numbingly peaceful, Thomas,” James reminded him as he put the razor to Thomas’ face. His own hair, a lighter auburn than it had been before, but not yet hinting at grey, was getting longer. He had to continuously swipe it away from his eyes, but Thomas had insisted, just like he insisted that Thomas shave. It helped them remember. It was good. In the beginning, James was afraid they wouldn’t have what they had, that they were forced to change their physical appearances so they were reminded of the men they had loved before – ten years ago. It wasn’t so, they needed no reminder, but it was good.

~

Eventually, with enough coercing from James, who knew that he could talk any man into anything, Thomas agreed.

He didn’t know how he did it, but a while later James entered Thomas’s room late at night – having run off earlier that day to do God knows what – with a thick belt around his hips. Attached to it was a sword. He had also acquired a pistol. Thomas felt dizzy.

~

They brought nothing with them, they left nothing behind. And still Thomas was reluctant, but he knew that James could never live there, not after the life he’d led. He might be exhausted to his very bones, but James could not stay there, and he never did have to fight again, so long as they found somewhere to settle. Away from prying eyes.

And James was incredibly skilled. They didn’t have to kill anyone. No one saw. Thomas thought he might have bribed some of the guards, but he wasn’t convinced.

They stole clothes and moved as swiftly as they could. Thomas was stronger than he used to be, James didn’t have to wait for him, not much. He would have liked to know where exactly they were going, but then he thought James might not be sure himself.

They traveled for a while. First they walked, then they boarded a ship. The annoyance on James’ face every time the captain gave an order was entirely too much for Thomas, and he couldn’t help but giggle and ask whether he should prepare for a mutiny. His smile faded when he saw James’ pensive expression. He quickly dragged him from the deck.

~

“Where are we?” Thomas asked when James jumped from the longboat with his weapons strapped securely to his body. He was an impressive sight, broad shouldered and determined, frown now deeper than Thomas had ever seen it before. There was tension in his shoulders and for a moment Thomas saw what others did when they looked at Captain Flint.

“This,” James replied, “is Nassau.” People whispered as they passed. Soon they gathered a crowd that followed them all the way to a tavern. Everything fell silent as they stepped inside. The tension was thick in the air and Thomas was afraid he might choke on it.

“What are _you_ doing here?” It was a man who spoke, a man with a rather peculiar beard. It was a bit unpleasant for Thomas, seeing with his own eyes the effects of Captain Flint’s mere presence. James had acquired a nice shirt and some breeches along the way, his shoes weren’t so bad and his weapons were on display for everyone. His hair wasn’t yet long enough to pull back, it was tickling the side of his right eye. He made an impressive figure.

“Where’s Silver?” Flint growled and showed teeth. Thomas stiffened.

“Don’t. I’m telling you, Flint, don’t do it. You don’t want to.” The man put his arms out in front of him in a calming gesture as if to keep Flint off. Flint went into a room at the back and Thomas followed. There he watched as Flint took Don Quixote off a shelf and strode back into the other room. The man with the beard answered his careful questions about the leadership on the island, on what had happened when he’d left, on John Silver. Then he asked for a pen and opened the book on the first page.

> _A day, a month, a year_  
>  _You have done a good job_  
> 
> 
> _Captain James Flint_.

“Give it to him, Rackham,” Flint ordered. Rackham looked dubious, but nodded. Then they left.

“A day, a month, a year?” Thomas asked.

“Since last I saw him. Come, I need to show you something.”

~

It was exactly as it had been the last time James had seen it. Silver’s doing, he supposed. There was nothing left but a blackened history. Some of the roof had fallen through, and yet – Thomas could imagine what it might have been like, before. When Miranda Barlow had held house for James Flint.

James spent hours there, showing him everything, telling him where they kept the books and the little gifts he brought from his travels. He showed him where the harpsichord had stood and where they used to keep the painting. His voice was thick when he did, like the words didn’t want to be heard, didn’t want the light of day lest they be burned too.

But there was nothing for them there anymore, and Thomas wanted James away from Nassau, preferably the entire island, as quickly as possible. It had nothing to do with John Silver’s presence, even though he knew James could feel it like a pressure on his soul, like a physical force. No, Thomas wasn’t afraid what might transpire should they meet. What he was afraid of, was Flint’s urgent presence. The longer they stayed, the longer he would sully the air they breathed. Of course, Thomas didn’t hate Captain Flint, he had great respect for the man, and he knew James had shed that skin over a year ago. But there were remnants, memories sparked by this town and Thomas wanted to shield James from it as much as he could, knowing it was painful, almost unbearable, but also alluring. He didn’t think less of James for what he had done, but the man he had become was not one to settle, couldn’t physically settle. He knew James would always be restless, but he didn’t want to feed it, especially because James didn’t want it fed. Flint, they knew, couldn't live without the fight.

So they left at sunrise the next morning.

~

The little boat they went with – Thomas didn’t know what it was called, he had never been a naval man and even though he had loved to listen to James McGraw’s ramblings about the different ships, how they sat in the water and what they were used for specifically, he didn’t commit it to memory as he was otherwise engaged in staring at the beautiful crease on the left side of James’ mouth, his delicate lips as they moved, the spark in his emerald eyes as they lit up with passion – the boat took them away from the island, but soon landed on another one. They inspected it, James grunted, and they moved on. This happened several times and Thomas found he couldn’t not be amused with James’ pickiness and critical eyebrows. James was about to dismiss another island – somewhat bigger than the others they had visited – when Thomas interrupted him.

“We stay here.” The village they had landed in was small but efficient, it was clean and looked very honorable, at least on the surface. James made discrete inquiries for some days, but soon found something that might be promising.

Some ways away from the village, though not so far they couldn’t comfortably walk to and from in a day, there was an abandoned house with a patch of fertile land behind it.

~

They settled there, and they made it a home. James had kept money in Nassau, should he ever need it, and it proved to be a blessing as they acquired material for the rebuild. They found pleasure in the work, Thomas much more than he thought he would. Now that he was away from that horrid place, he could no longer deny how much he despised working in a sugar field, or being confound to his room, never being allowed to leave the estate, not even for a moment. He breathed more freely here, even if the work was harder.

~

When James realized they were about to run dry, he scrambled together the rest of their money and bought a small rowing boat and some little material he could use for fishing. They had rationed their food for the better part of a month, and a full meal was incredibly satisfying. Thomas beamed at him as he set his plate down, and James thought he might burst. This shouldn’t be possible, he shouldn’t be allowed this. It was too much and James was so struck with love for a moment that everything else faded. Thomas leaned over the table and took James’ face in his hands and kissed him thoroughly until they had to move to the bedroom.

~

Then the season arrived, and they could harvest what they had planted when they first arrived. James thanked their lucky stars because they had run out of any other resources and somehow his fishing net had been torn horribly. They managed to sell enough for James to get a new net, and they had enough, for now at least.

~

Their bed wasn’t luxurious as Lord Thomas’ had been in London, but the times they spent there were such that no shortcoming was payed attention to, whether they were making love or bickering over the big questions in each other’s arms. James though he might have gotten too old for behavior like this, but he had learned that there was no such thing as too old. Not with Thomas by his side.

~

Their home was not by the ocean. They couldn’t even see it from their front porch, which was now adorned with flowers – Thomas’ handiwork. It had been a conscious choice, though none of them had mentioned it. Thomas might have wanted them even further away, knowing the natural pull it would have on his man. The ocean would always be an escape for James, and though he had lost so much to it, he still felt that he owed it something. And then there was John Silver, waiting on the horizon. Thomas knew he was part of that pull too, and he accepted it, was glad even, that James had had that man to lean on, to love in a way.

So he had wanted them further away, maybe even on the mainland. James had dismissed the very idea. He felt it every day, the pull, the longing, the hurt. _The power_. And had he lived on the water’s edge the tides might have taken him and swallowed him whole – he had escaped its clutched more times than a man should be allowed and it would not be happy until it had him because _James Flint should have died at sea_. But had he lived further away, had no one recognized the oar for what it was, the pull would also prove too strong. To not see, not have access to – he couldn’t imagine. It would mean cutting a piece of him so large he would limp worse than Silver. No, without the salt, James couldn’t breathe, but with too much he might thirst to death. _This_ , this was just fine.

~

After a while, when their harvests had grown and they could stay self-sufficient on that alone, James stopped going to the edge of the ocean regularly. It was enough to know that it was there, just beyond the hill should he want it.

And as time passed, he even stopped talking aloud to Silver. He used to stand there, watching the blue expanse and feeling the scar on his shoulder, and he would talk. Sometimes for hours, sometimes just minutes. He felt as if John could hear him, could respond to him with the brush of waves on the sand. He would tell him of the life he led, how happy he was, and how, despite everything, he had forgiven him, and long ago at that. And then he would tell him he missed him, and that he must take care of himself. Now, those were just whispers in the back of his mind, like a prayer he said every night before sleep.

~

Seasons came and went, and suddenly Thomas was more silver than John had ever been. They had been together now, for longer than they had been apart. When they first realized it, Thomas had cried.

~

They worked until they couldn’t work anymore. Thomas broke his arm in a fall and it didn’t heal right. James’ knees were aching. Their heartbeats were quickening as if their bodies were going frantic in the attempt to keep them upright. James had lost his hair along the way.

They still held each other at night, sometimes. Mostly, they would lie there and murmur, sometimes Thomas would read aloud though his voice wasn’t as clear nor as strong as it used to be. That was when James cried.

Thomas’ eyes grew paler and the crinkles around them were constant now, not just appearing when he smiled, but they made him look happy and James loved them. Because James knew he was happy. And so was James. But they were old, and they were dwindling. _Old age wasn’t supposed to come to them_ , because they were happy and Thomas felt they deserved it.

~

Their stocks ran dry, but they had put aside money during the entirety of what now felt like their youth, even though they had both been past forty when they first arrived. A young man from the village brought them food in exchange for money and James’ stories.

Then their money dwindled too, but it was just as well, though James still had a dilemma to ponder as he watched Thomas fade in their bed, every day getting closer to the inevitable. James should be buried at sea, he knew, but such a fate was unthinkable for Lord Thomas Hamilton. And part, they could not. He would not, not even in death.

~

James had to watch as the fever made Thomas’ eyes glassy, but the man still smiled at him, even though it was wobbly. He had gotten so used to how strong Thomas had been when they met at the plantation. He had been strong enough to lift James and have him against the wall, and James couldn’t remember the last time they had enjoyed each other in that position, but it was obvious now, how long ago it must have been.

James stayed beside him and stroked his hair. He wiped the sweat from Thomas’ brow with a wet cloth and he tried to hide how much he hurt. He was well accustomed to hiding, Captain Flint had done little else, but that man was only a ghost now, like a life James wasn’t sure he'd led. But he never could hide anything from Thomas.

“Don’t cry, James, please. Do not be sad for me, I’ve had such wonderful times here with you. Imagine that, James, yes? We got the life we dreamed about, do you remember? We were lying in my bed one morning in London. It was raining, had been raining almost for a month but the window was open and the air was fresh, do you remember?” James nodded but the memory only brought tears to his eyes. “You asked me to marry you, and I said yes. Of course I did. We talked of this, of going somewhere far away where no one could watch us and no one could judge us. Think of the life we’ve led here James, isn’t it exactly what we hoped for?” And Thomas managed a wobbly smile and Lord if it wasn’t the most beautiful thing James had ever seen.

~

Thomas had never lost his hair, but it was white now, and so was his unkempt beard. James was afraid he’d cut him if he tried to shave him, because his hands were trembling, too. And had been for a while.

~

Then Thomas’ heart gave out at long last, and a final sigh escaped parched lips. _I love you, you silly old man_ , had been his last words. That was a day earlier, when he had still been lucid. James had told the boy he should come back in a week only. That was four days ago. _Yes_ , he’d said, _they had enough food, but they needed some privacy_. He hadn’t eaten since the last meal he shared with Thomas. That was three days ago. That had been the last of their food. James didn’t feel the hunger as it took him.

When the boy came back it was to a silent home and he felt like an intruder. He knew what he had agreed to, and had wanted to refuse, but no one could stand against the fiery Mr. McGraw, even when he was too old to keep his back straight.

He found them together on the bed and he cried for half an hour before he fetched his friends. They brought the two bodies to the top of the hill and put them in the earth together. It was a beautiful place, green with grass, overlooking and ocean so vast no man had ever seen it all. From there, they could see both the sunrise and the sundown. The sky was orange when they smoothed the earth out. Orange like the hair of James McGraw, the oldest of them thought, the only one who could vaguely remember the strangers as they first arrived. But where the sky had yet to turn dark – and was not reached by the glow of the setting sun – there the sky was blue, blue like the eyes of Thomas McGraw. They all knew those eyes, they all knew the kindness there because said eyes had so often landed on them with fond patience as he taught them to read and write.

The colors were caressing each other as the sun slowly disappeared, playing a friendly game of give and take with careful grace. The blue was kind but firm, the orange strong yet soft. But eventually they faded too, as is the way of life.

**Author's Note:**

> Please forgive me! Just imagine though, how much it must have hurt James when Thomas died! I just couldn't let the man suffer anymore by having him live past that!
> 
> Isn't it fitting, somehow, that when I re-read this, it was with Maranda's voice in my head? Maybe I just know her voice too well, but it seemed right. Anyway... 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed my little fic, and that it hurt at least a tiny bit (because I'm a sadist :) (and a masochist, apparently)
> 
>  
> 
> *updated because I just figured out how to make words cursive (I'm not stupid, I promise!). And also, if anyone want to request scenes from this fic to be elaborated, I have in mind a series with exactly that and would love to hear which scenes you'd like me to include! :)


End file.
